Aegri Somnia
by Audacia's Quill
Summary: A wizard should not be in a muggle prison, much less Arkham Asylum. Dr. Crane, our resident scarecrow finds himself in an odd position. Enraptured by the green-eyed sanest man in The Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane." CranexHarry SlashBL
1. Arkham's Sanest

**Aegri Somnia**

**Latin**- _A sick man's dreams (Horace)_

_VERY A.U-y _

_Author's long-ass note: Okay okay, before you all shoot me comic-book fans, I know the Batman franchise has a long rich historical tapestry and what I do know I've recovered from Google and my comic-book obsessive friend. This will probably have holes in it due to the fact I'm not monstrously into the DC universe. The following is written with the Batman live action films in mind. I adore Nolan's Dr. Crane [and lets face it, Cillian Murphy is hot]. Go into the following as merely "Yaoi for the sake of yaoi" because that's what I did when writing it._

_HarryxDr Crane. Prisoner!Harry, Lemon, Yaoi & Adult situations etc._

_Now, psychology students, please don't shoot me either. Just enjoy the show._

_**DISCLAIMER:**__ I do not own Harry Potter or the Batman franchise._

_

* * *

_

Harry Potter didn't really know how he came to be in the position that he was in. The cells were all white there and it was a huge step up from Azkaban, though it really didn't take much.

For a while they had him in Blackgate Penitentiary until he was declared insane and moved.

It took a while for him to be ghosted to another prison; he was almost killed in Azkaban by the Death Eaters imprisoned there. Minister of Magic Scrimgeor knew he could not keep Harry Potter –their fallen hero in Azkaban with so many protesting to it.

So he 'ghosted' (prison slang for moved) Harry Potter to the next worst listed prisons he could find by moving him to a prison in a city with the most dangerous criminals.

Gotham City.

After much negotiating with the muggles he was finally let into Blackgate, only to be declared insane within a week and moved to Arkham Asylum.

Now for all those who had known Harry James Potter since he was little, they would know there is naught a bad bone in his body. So what did he do to end up in prison?

Nothing.

He was there for one reason and one reason only and that reason was corrupt Minister Scrimgoer. When he rose into office Harry had objections on the Wizengamot and almost cost him the election, Harry knew that the former-auror-and-now-Minister was a common user of excessive violence in his arrests. He did it to such a degree that he'd take shifts in Azkaban from time to time and abuse prisoners there too to the point it became something of a hobby, abusing criminals.

So when Scrimgoer got into office he decided to shut Harry up permanently and have him framed quite artfully to cover a screw up by the Ministry of Magic.

Blame Harry Potter for the death of Amelia Bones, which a renegade member of radical anti-Ministry group had targeted and killed. It was an estranged but closely related person within Scrimgoer's family and should it have ever gotten out that it was one of his own he'd have been taken out of office in shame.

He might have disliked some of his family, but that didn't mean he wanted them kissed by a Dementer or sentenced to Azkaban. That would sound far-fetched and even more like a conspiracy-theory as to why Harry was in Azkaban, but the sad part was that it was true. The Ministry of Magic was not infallible; one might say the government was ill with corruption. The ex-minister Fudge knew this too; he drained the treasury and fled when Voldemort returned to leave the magical world high and dry. They had sent Sirius Black, an innocent man, to Hell on Earth. Azkaban prison without a trial and if there was one, you can guarantee the first time around it would not have been a fair one. With corruption in the Ministry like a rectal disease it was no surprise Scrimgoer got away with the horrific crimes of justice and abuse of power or that such a fantastical story of a terrorist relative had killed one of the most powerful faces of justice was hidden and blamed on an exalted hero. The higher ups of the Wizengamot almost always abused the sheer sway they had; Lucius Malfoy still retained power even after the war and fighting as a known Death Eater if only by the sheer wealth and high standing his family name had carried for generations. Harry would have bet the soles of his shoes that Malfoy senior probably had a hand in him ending up in the position he was in now.

For a boy who had seen unspeakable horrors in his eighteen years on this green Earth, Azkaban forcing him to re-live them only did more damage to him.

Nobody in Blackgate had cared much for the story of his innocence [altered for muggle-ears], until he began screaming in the middle of the night. "I'm innocent! I'm innocent! I'm not like Tom Riddle! I'm not!"

"I didn't kill Ms Bones! Murderers are freaks and I'm not a freak don't believe the Dursleys— " then he'd sob "I'm not a freak," repetitively until calmed down.

He was quite an odd one in the group of 'crazies' albeit certainly no Joker, he was undoubtedly a _little_ unbalanced, according to Doctor Jonathan Crane.

Also known as the Scarecrow. . .

* * *

Dr. Crane had specified that an audio-recording device be fitted in Harry's cell within Arkham to keep track of what he screamed during his nightmares.

Some of the things pointed to abuse as a child which made Dr. Crane frown, why would a prisoner be thinking about such things when Arkham nurses drugged him up with happy-pills? It was like giving a placebo to him. It did nothing.

Dr. Crane also had other questions, like what exactly happened within Blackgate and the mysterious "Azkaban" prison he'd read in Harry's prison-placement documents to cause such an emotional breakage?

Dr. Crane was a sadistic, corrupt man and one might argue he was even evil for all of the things he had done or attempted to do with his 'crazies' but at the end of it all he was still a doctor. Some might even argue he was merely a dark intellectual taking the more forbidden path into knowledge when doing psychological study into fears and phobias.

He definitely wasn't a good man, but calling him 'evil' is entirely debateable. Corrupt –yes. Evil? Compare him to Tom Marvolo Riddle and I'd say probably not. He was despicable as a human being though, most definitely.

Dr. Crane entered Harry Potter's cell and plastered up a well-practiced smile as the door shut behind him and guards kept a half-hearted eye to make sure Harry didn't harm him.

Unlike the prisoners of Arkham, Harry was not violent and had yet to show any violent behaviour except for perfectly normal thrashing about during nightmares.

Dr. Crane let his smile melt into something of a smirk when he noticed Harry immediately begin fixing up his appearance; Harry Potter had always shown signs of relatively normal societal actions. He still said his 'please' and 'thank you's when appropriate, he'd show acknowledgement when Dr. Crane would stop by the viewing screen of his cell and just watch him. This was the first time Dr. Crane had stepped into Harry's cell to talk personally.

If Harry wasn't as strong as he was, the other prisoners would have torn him to shreds but he proved himself strong enough to not have others pick a fight and simply leave him alone.

Dr. Crane usually found the sane quite boring and took his jollies from experimenting and working with the clinically unbalanced, but Harry walked a sensitive border yet had been disliked by higher-ups so much that he was shoved into Arkham. So for once a reasonably sane fellow caught the interest of the sadistic Dr. Crane.

What on Earth was he going to do with the sanest prisoner in Arkham Asylum?

There was the possibility of discharge but the higher-ups wouldn't allow it.

Sigh.

* * *

Dr. Crane had asked that they free up an interrogation room and promptly had Harry moved there and sat on a chair behind a desk.

For a moment nothing was said until the carefully watching guard had stopped shuffling about and eventually the doctor was sick of the presence and told them to leave, assured that Harry wouldn't hurt him as he exhibited no signs of violence toward any of his previous doctors or nurses and was quite clear-headed for a 'crazy'.

The guard grudgingly left but knew Dr. Crane had a bit of a reputation for liking his prisoners to himself.

Nobody questioned it. Ever.

There was a silence where they stared at each other from over the desk, Dr. Crane got a closer look at Harry. He really did look as young as his age on his documents stated, eighteen. He was definitely one of Arkham's youngest detainees, he got his notepad out and began to jot a few things down.

Whilst Dr. Crane was not Arkham's designated _physical_ doctor he could take note of anything physically abnormal with a patient if it could point to a psychological issue. Choice of what detainees do to their clothing and how they were holding up health-wise were minor indications of what was going on 'upstairs'.

Harry's eyes flickered over to the notepad on the desk and he could clearly see what the man in the white coat was writing.

"It's nothing you cannot see for yourself within a shiny surface Mr. Potter," said Dr. Crane quite flatly, though not coldly.

On the notepad he merely noted a few things about Harry's appearance, that he had slight bags around his eyes that indicated tiredness most likely from his nightmares. The fact that out of all of the detainees he was one of the most polished and made an effort to remain clean and above all…sane in comparison to everyone else with hopes of a discharge.

"Allow me to introduce myself formally, I am Doctor Jonathan Crane," he almost smirked again when he saw recognition sparking in Harry's eyes.

Bright green eyes, unfocused but beautiful.

Harry was still something of a mess despite being the most polished out of the rest of the insane members of Arkham.

Tresses of black hair were becoming longer and reached his shoulder blades, his body had become more prison toned and his white detainee garments, despite being estimated to his size were an ill fit. Too big, when Dr. Crane had first caught a glimpse of the newest addition to Arkham being brought in he dully noted that whoever it was looked like a child drowning in their parent's oversized clothing.

Realizing it was his assigned patient, Harry James Potter, he could see a noticeable change, and he had filled out a little more into his clothes. If only very slightly.

"I know you. Erm…well… I've heard about you," said Harry, fighting to keep his voice level. Why didn't he just use magic to get out? Simple, he had no wand, he was not proficient in wandless magic, and Azkaban had damaged his mental clarity to allow for any great feats to help him escape from a muggle imprisonment facility.

This was exactly why the magical world let him go into a muggle prison with a clear conscience about it.

"Oh?" Dr. Crane raised an eyebrow "-and what have you heard Harry –do you mind if I call you that?"

"It's fine. I…I heard some things," Harry's voice went low, measuring the psychologist for some type of sign he was getting angry at him for making an accusation based off of rumours "-that you drove a prisoner named Falcone mad,"

'_among others'_ added Harry silently in his mind.

Dr. Crane gave him a tight, forced grin. True he did –with the fear gas, but he didn't like rumours of his experiments getting out or being discussed even amongst the mad.

"Now, now, Harry. I am a psychologist and a counsellor among many things and it is my job to make people better, not worse," he said in a lightly chiding manner, as if scorning Harry lightly for believing rumours.

He was sane enough to know better. Tut. Tut.

"You have quite a high stability rate judging by the reports submitted from the previous examinations despite your night time episodes, I thought you better then to believe rumours in an _insane asylum_," said Dr. Crane dryly.

There was silence for a moment and Dr. Crane put his pen down beside his notepad. He frowned and stared critically at Harry for a moment into his green eyes rather then the bags surrounding them.

Beautiful yet_ unfocused_.

"Harry, I would like it if you could maintain eye contact with me," said Dr. Crane gently.

Harry nodded and squinted a little, Dr. Crane noticed this and jotted another thing down.

"Do you have trouble with your vision?"

"Y—Yeah, I used to have glasses but they got destroyed a while back in Blackgate," admitted Harry.

Dr. Crane frowned. How could he experiment on Harry if the boy could not see him clearly? He was stuck with Harry for a six month period unless the patient requested a different psychotherapist. He needed a healthier guinea pig that was actually able to witness the effect of the newly altered Fear Gas.

"I'll schedule a vision test for you at some point then Harry," Dr. Crane leered.

"Are you long or short sighted?"

Harry frowned and took a moment to remember what each term meant before answering.

"Short sighted,"

Dr. Crane resumed smirking, this was good, he couldn't see distant objects so his concentration was solely on what was close to him, what he could see.

Harry was staring at Dr. Crane apprehensively despite shoving the now-stupid-sounding rumours to the back of his mind. Dr. Crane didn't look evil, but then again, looks could be deceiving. Tom Riddle didn't look evil if the Chamber of Secrets showed him anything, he was the epitome of graceful murderer, do not judge a book by their cover.

Even if they had a really beautiful cover, like Dr. Crane did.

He had distinctive big blue eyes, his eyes struck him the most and then his lips, full yet not overly-so. Light skinned yet not deathly-pale, and artfully combed and somewhat long brown hair. With the rectangular glasses and the suit it might have tied up the geeky appearance, but Harry could hardly match Dr. Crane's looks with a negative connotation. None whatsoever.

Was it merely a deceptive cover? Could he trust this muggle? He hadn't trusted the aurors and dementers of Azkaban, he hadn't trusted the guards of Blackgate, could he trust Dr. Crane?

Then he heard what Dr. Crane said earlier, it was his job to make people better, so did that mean Harry was sick? Sick like everyone else was in Arkham? Or merely rushed and labelled as such? Either way maybe Dr. Crane seeing which one of those options it was, could help Harry. He needed help. He had no one.

'_Let the nice muggle help you…_

_Azkaban has hurt you, everyone has hurt you, maybe he won't'_

"Right. Now, I feel we should talk about something Harry," began Dr. Crane, whatever sick and sadistic experiments he did do, he was also a psychologist employed to do a job, so on some occasions yes, he'd actually do it.

"Your nightmares…night terrors, whatever you wish to call your episodes. I was the one that put you forward for 'prazosin' medication to sort them out," explained Dr. Crane, referring to the pills Harry was forced to take.

"-and yet there is no improvement in your sleeping, it's as if we gave you placebos by mistake. Not just with 'prazosin' but with any other variety of medicine we have administered thus far," Dr. Crane pushing his glasses up and shuffled through Harry's medical documents, eyeing over the list of all the medicines they had tried on him.

There was a way he could direct the psychoanalysis to something more interesting though, relevant to his studies on fear and phobia.

"What is it that scares you so, Harry? Enough to make you cry nightly? Somewhere in the process of you moving from facility-to-facility or perhaps before then, something has happened that has made you the ill person you are now," said Dr. Crane.

"…ill?" Harry jumped on that word.

Ill. Another word for not-well, abnormal, synonym for freak.

Maybe the Dursley's were right, after all, he's in the world's darkest and most notorious insane asylum. Freak.

"Like everyone else in this facility, but to a much lesser degree," admitted Dr. Crane.

"In fact, I have few doubts that you'd be an issue if you were discharged and let into the world. Though you do show signs of PTSD during your 'episodes' and the audio-recorders I placed within your cell pick up strange things Harry. Things I hope that you can one day tell me about," said Dr. Crane, inwardly cursing how long it took to build a patient-therapist trust. For someone with far and few medical ethics, it was practically eating him. He was half tempted to create a truth serum and avoid the whole 'building trust' process all together, quench his curiosity, do his experiments and move on.

But Harry Potter was a special case. Medicines were as useful as a placebo to him, what made him like that? Was there something merely different about his immune system all together? Did he consume something in his lifetime that rendered modern medicine useless? Did that mean he was immune to most poisons and illnesses?

Dr. Crane had some private tests to run on this…anomaly.

"Now, let's get back to the question Harry. What scares you so?" Dr. Crane looked practically predatory as his eyes settled on Harry's lips, waiting for an answer to come out.

When he thought about his nightmares he knew often screamed what he was trying to say in his dark dreams and everyone else in the waking world ended up hearing it.

He wasn't scared of Tom Riddle, he was dead now but he still wasn't scared of him. Every horcrux was slain before Voldemort himself, he was not coming back.

Dementers used to be his boggart –his worst fear, which as the embodiment of such should show he has nothing to fear but fear itself.

That changed eventually.

He always knew he had a frighteningly similar life to Tom Marvolo Riddle's, if on a coin-flip or in another world you had to bet whether he was still a light wizard, it'd be entirely fifty-fifty. Harry knew he was always on the thin line, a hair away from darkness even if he didn't have a dark bone in his body. A half-blood born within a land of hateful muggles, with extraordinary power in the perfect abusive environment that could easily spawn the birth of evil, like it did with Voldemort . . .

Instead they had a light wizard, Harry Potter who wielded Voldemort's brother wand and was his only true equal, even above the likes of Dumbledore, the opposite side of the spectrum. Yet so very close to being evil he was. Now everyone was telling him he was ill, he was in prison and now an asylum being told to his face he was ill. Freakish as the Dursley's proclaimed from day one and now… "ill".

Arkham's most dangerous resident, the Joker had said it quite artfully once.

"_Madness, as you know, is a lot like gravity, all it takes is a little push. "_

Maybe Harry had been pushed?

If you hear a lie long enough and tell it enough, soon other people will begin to believe it and maybe you'd start to believe it yourself. Everyone said Harry had a varying degree of insanity, but none said he was sane, so maybe they were right.

Maybe.

"I'm scared of being brought down to the level of the very kind of person who got me unfairly thrown in state correctional facilities, Dr. Crane," said Harry finally.

Dr. Crane arched an eyebrow and began jotting things down again.


	2. Gotham's Crime Coma

**Aegri Somnia**

**Latin**- _A sick man's dreams (Horace)_

_VERY A.U-y NOLANVERSE_

_Author's long-ass note: Okay okay, before you all shoot me comic-book fans, I know the Batman franchise has a long rich historical tapestry and what I do know I've recovered from Google and my comic-book obsessive friend. This will probably have holes in it due to the fact I'm not monstrously into the DC universe. The following is written with the Batman live action Nolanverse in mind with elements pulled from the comics to flesh out a history that the movies did not include or did not elaborate on. Don't shoot me fellow nerds._

_HarryxDr Crane. PrisonerHarry, Lemon, Yaoi & Adult situations etc._

_Now, psychology students, please don't shoot me either. Just enjoy the show._

_**DISCLAIMER:**__ I do not own Harry Potter or the Batman franchise._

_

* * *

_

For his second session Dr. Crane found himself studying Harry, trying to get the truth out of him. It was surprisingly difficult and for the billionth time he cursed the fact it was impossible for him to scientifically create a truth serum.

Dr. Crane decided to watch security footage of Harry's cell in his office. The camera hadn't been switched on in that room until he decided to witness one of Harry's nightly episodes himself.

Harry thrashed, sweated bullets, sleep-argued, screamed. Every reaction raised a spark of interest when Dr. Crane played it over and took a few notes, then looked through audio-transcripts.

He stopped the audio tapes and grimaced as the video of Harry sweating and thrashing stuck itself on loop. Fixing up his glasses he scowled as he watched the boy writhe. He wasn't fighting invisible enemies but it seemed like he was trying to shake off something as if invisible bugs were crawling all over him.

Dr. Crane made a brief note to question Harry about his dreams and offer methods of dream recollection.

_"—I'm not a freak,"_ he accidentally hit the audio-player button as he reached for his coffee mug and sighed as he heard Harry's repetitive screams.

Then the sound of sobbing…

_"—Uncle's going to pour bleach down my eye's Dud…tell him you broke the TV…"_

He heard Harry say things like that too much and definitely ticked the box of "Childhood abuse," which he found himself adding to Harry's file.

Eventually Dr. Crane turned off the audio-player, the television and popped out Harry's security tape and threw them into a locked drawer. On the left of his office desk he had a blackened bag filled with canisters of Fear Gas and a rather torn up scarecrow mask that he had contemplated on bringing with him to his session with Harry tomorrow.

With a resigned sigh he took his coat from the back of his chair and put it on, carrying his black bag and stalking into the night-time rain, leaving Arkham Asylum for his own home not far from it.

* * *

Harry stopped writhing in his comfortably padded cell and eventually found himself having an eerily peaceful sleep. His dreams were not ridden with particularly gruesome memories of Voldemort's more animalistic past-kills, nor was it of the great betrayal he felt from the wizarding world for throwing him in Azkaban.

It was just feelings, feelings of having absolutely nobody and it hurt. It made his dreams fill with less intense, though hurtful little moments of his life where he felt abandoned. For a moment his dreaming-mind had forgotten where he was, maybe it was Azkaban with those Merlin forsaken dementors. Haunters of dreams, destroyers of mind, slayers of hope. Fear, embodied within their very being.

Every ounce of air felt jolted from his lungs in shock as he felt pressure all over his body. Hands, pulling, pushing, touching, tearing like he was a piece of cloth being chewed savagely by a dog.

"—No tranquiliser! No medication, you only put him on exactly what I say so get that needle away from him this instant! All of you get back to your stations and desist from manhandling him," came a barked order that even carried to Harry's ears and dragged him into consciousness. Harry's sleepy eyes blurrily made out a bunch of burly muscle-men –Arkham guards, moving away from him.

Someone was still holding onto him though, but not tearing him apart, just holding. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes he finally saw things that were in close range, clearly.

Dr. Crane could almost curse the Arkham guards out with a tongue-lashing for their stupidity. Then again perhaps he should have left specific instruction on how Harry Potter in particular should be treated, but he was still devising methods of non-medicinal mental-support for Harry's 'episodes'.

Harry groaned and looked through his black tresses of hair as he leaned back into whatever was holding him.

It was Dr. Crane.

The psychologist was very glad he'd chosen to come into work early today, if only to catch the Arkham guards before they did some serious harm to Harry. This easily helped the patient-therapist trust, because the fact it took so long to develop was something that had been eating at Crane for a while now. He hadn't had a patient with secrets that actually pertained to his interests and it practically gnawed at him that he couldn't merely force them out. Force. His favourite method.

"Perhaps, we should start your session early," said Dr. Crane, helping Harry up to his feet in his padded cell. The straight jackets had been on and off Harry in his time in Arkham; he kept somehow tearing them apart during his episodes, a surely impossible feat, but one he had done repeatedly. So every night he thrashed around violently and freely.

"Okay doc," smiled Harry as he very quickly came to like this muggle, one who may be able to fix him, stop his nightmares and after that the stupid block would go. The block, the thing inside of his heart that felt like it was stopping his magic, and then? No more Arkham, no more wizarding world, just happiness.

* * *

They were in the interrogation room, well, the therapy-rooms really but everyone in Arkham was _criminally_ insane, resulting in a lot of police interrogations happening there.

Hence therapy room was more often then not an interrogation room.

Though for once it was used for its intended purpose, as Harry found himself sitting on a chair with undone belt-straps to hold the mad in place behind a desk where Crane sat behind it.

The time read as 8: 30am on Dr. Crane's wrist-watch, it was early; too early…Harry hadn't even had his breakfast yet.

"It's early, I take it you haven't eaten," Dr. Crane knew the answer to that but he needed a way to start the conversation.

"Yeah," Harry didn't exactly look forward to the rather poor quality of food served by the nurses of Arkham, but he was hungry and would eat it anyway.

"I know the food here isn't very nice," said Dr. Crane casually and then began reaching into a shopping bag beside a blackened one which he had brought in with him and placed under the desk.

"-and I'd prefer it if we didn't start off the session, hungry," he brought out some food be brought on the way to work that morning and then gave Harry a forced little smile. Harry found himself looking at Crane and trying to deduce what he was actually trying to do by sharing his breakfast with him. Trust. That was it, trying to build up a trust very quickly and haphazardly to try and withdraw whatever it was he wanted from Harry. He knew it had to be something; he always was a special case.

Harry found himself quite liking the cheese sandwich he was nibbling on though.

When the quiet moment of the two eating had finished, Dr. Crane asked Harry a few standard questions and received equally illusive or frustratingly mysterious answers. He'd also asked if Harry had consumed anything in his lifetime or had something enter his bloodstream that rendered most medicines useless on him.

Dr. Crane couldn't seem to get very much out of Harry despite the fact he tried to be cooperative. Harry winced as Dr. Crane had opened his briefcase and had withdrawn a syringe.

"Is it okay, Harry, if I could take a blood sample with me to the lab? Then perhaps we can find a medicine that can help you," he lied through his teeth. He wanted to run tests on Harry's blood and find out what made him so impervious to what was administered to him. It was a private experiment for his own purposes, but Harry didn't have to know that.

A blood sample later and Harry found himself staring at a little plaster on his upper arm.

"Meanwhile I think we should have longer sessions, to treat you," said Dr. Crane "-and then perhaps we can look at the possibility of discharge,"

"You're lying," said Harry suddenly, Dr. Crane stiffened up for a moment and looked at Harry over his glasses.

"What makes you say that?"

"When you mentioned me being discharged. This place is not for the mad, it says the criminally mad, isn't my time here like a sentence?" Harry looked at Crane resembling something very close to hurt and for the sadistic doctor he found himself wondering if still liked such an expression when it adorned the face of this particular patient.

"You misunderstand Harry," he said softly, it was all an act of course, for the sake of trust but it was working. He was even able to get away with putting a calming hand on top of Harry's, for a moment Harry looked at him like he'd grown an extra-head, then prodded him to elaborate when he decided Dr. Crane wouldn't have much reason to lie about that.

"This is for the criminally mad, but if you were to be discharged you'd face a parole hearing," explained Dr. Crane.

Harry froze up and his mind flashed back to the Wizengamot of wizarding Britain.

Would it be a wizard's trial? If so, then he was forever screwed, would it be a muggle trial? Then were would he go, Hell, would he be doomed to remain in Arkham Asylum with only Dr. Crane for good company amongst the criminally insane?

"Where...would... the trial be?"

That was an odd question, Crane frowned for a moment.

"Gotham, probably, though..."

"The powers that be, seem to not want you to ever get discharged. By that I mean someone is trying to make sure you say in some form of state care, I've been looking at your datafiles and before your stint in Blackgate Penitentiary you were in a place called 'Azkaban' yet I've spent hours researching and making phone calls about it,"

"It seems like this 'Azkaban' does not exist, Harry. So tell me, does it? If so, why is it that I cannot get any information with regards to it? I know that if you can answer the first question you can answer the second. I want the truth Harry," Dr. Crane's eyes came to slow narrow as the other male began to sweat and twitch nervously in the chair.

Pause. Silence.

"Yes. Azkaban exists, that's all I can say,"

"Why?" pressed Dr. Crane, impatience beginning to bubble through.

Harry leaned in and looked around as if wizards were constantly watching and listening.

"There's a Statute of Secrecy,"

* * *

It seemed the more he got Harry to reveal, the more he didn't actually answer and the more questions there was. There were a few names of the authority involved with Harry's incarceration mentioned within his datafile. None of them had reachable phone numbers, but they did have an agency that could contact them, it seemed Crane had a lot of work if he wanted to find anything out about Harry's past.

He was also barely any closer to finding out what Harry's nightmares sometimes entailed, he had some ideas of course, from the audio-transcripts but none of the ideas were developed on and elaborated on by Harry. He seemed unwilling to talk about his home life and his past, it looked very painful for Harry, more then once Crane found his hand griping into the black bag, squeezing the canister of Fear Gas as he wondered whether to give into temptation.

"C-Could I be discharged though and have my trial in Gotham?" there was such a painful amount of hope in his voice that was riding on Crane's shoulders now.

"You are a British citizen Harry, however they handed over all authority of you to the states when you were first transferred to Blackgate. I think we can get your trial in Gotham, but let's not look forward at your discharge yet, we have to make you better first," said Dr. Crane.

Harry's eyes lit up, he knew his magic was connected to his mental and physical health, if they could fix whatever was... 'wrong' with Harry maybe he could use his magic again! The idea of whatever was stopping him suddenly going away with his nightmares all through muggle hands was something that sent his heart thumping with hope.

He could get better, he could no longer be a haunted man, he could also face freedom.

"Okay..."

"I can make you better Harry," he leered and suddenly there was a sense of foreboding that wasn't there before as he pulled out something from his blackened bag.

"But first I want to try a little something with you, now, throughout our few sessions I have used 'transparency' with you in return for your cooperation. I have hid no notes, I've even let you look at your file, which, I should not have done. But I did anyway, do you know why I've used this technique with you Harry?" Dr. Crane asked calmly.

"To...build trust?" answered back Harry hesitantly.

"Yes, and because I believe whilst you are ill, you are stable enough to understand what I tell you. I have hid nothing from you and have used absolute honesty as much as I could. That is why I let you look at your datafile when authority actually forbids this. Patients are not supposed to have access to their file," explained the psychotherapist.

"I did this to learn some things about you Harry, and I figured the sanest prisoner of Arkham would not appreciate being treated like just another..." his eyes flickered to the side as if looking at an invisible mad patient.

"-crazy," the lack of professionalism with the term made Harry feel as if he and Dr. Crane's conversation had stretched out of the bounds of a doctor-to-patient and more of a person-to-person one.

"You were right," Harry smiled at Crane, a real smile and for a moment the psychologist found himself surprised by it, he was wondering if what he was doing would shatter the quickly but solidly developed trust he'd created between himself and the patient who very much resembled a desperate child during their conversation of his previous stints in other facilities. A child who wanted to be saved, scorned by everything else and thrown into a place where he does not belong.

Dr. Crane could not guarantee a discharge or that he'd win his parole if he did get the discharge or even that it'd be a smooth trial in the states. Sure all of it seemed incredibly likely, but he would not place his guarantee on it, he didn't want to raise Harry's hopes and dash them. This said a lot, considering the man had long since abandoned most of his medical ethics.

"I would like your consent for something Harry," he said, wondering why he was even asking, he _never_ asked. He was a _p__sychologist __turned psychopath, why was he asking?_ Yet he had a hand over a canister of Fear Gas and there was a feeling he could not quite pinpoint as his eyes stared into the scarecrow mask in his bag, hesitant to bring it out.

"Consent for what?" asked Harry, suddenly wary.

He was very aware that Dr. Crane had a lot of rumors surrounding him in Arkham Asylum, that he drove people mad just for his own sick studies, but he never asked when he did it. Apparently he would just unleash mind-bending torture on those he wished, leave them screaming in their cells, say they need anti-psychotics and move on. So far the doctor had done none of those things and was nothing but kind, of course Harry knew he had to be. It was a psychotherapist's job to accept a person no matter who they were or what they did and pry that person's mind open, help them, aid them.

Now he was sure at least part of it was a deceptive cover, and that he'd just chipped away at some of it.

"More insight to your nightmares, Harry, I want to see if I can make you scared. I cannot guarantee parole or discharge even if those things do seem incredibly likely, so in the case that it doesn't, I shall make your stay at Arkham easier," there was a look on Dr. Crane's face, like a mixture of pity and yet a twisted dark demented look that looked a bit out of place on his handsome features. He was used to seeing a stoic expression, smirks or small calming smiles. Harry nodded his consent anyway and watched as the demented muggle placed a withered sack over his head, like a potato sack.

Like a child slipping into his Hallo'ween mask.

Upon close inspection it looked a bit like straw was sewn into it, then it became apparent what the mask was.

A scarecrow.

"After all... Arkham is like a purgatory for the mad, but...Hell for the reasonably sane," if he could make Harry a bit more insane, who knows? It'd make his stay in Arkham Asylum easier, he'd actually belong there and no longer would he be tortured by the fact he was shoved in with the severely mad in the way that a child with a flu was suddenly dropped into a medicinal camp for lepers.

"I'm not scared at the minute Dr. Crane," said Harry quietly, who compared the image to one of a nose-less, pale, monstrous looking Voldemort which made the poor choice of mask look even worse in comparison.

Then Crane got something else out of the blackened bag, a canister, then dropped it on the desk like it was glass and it shattered open, sending smoky-gas into the air. Everything became distorted in Harry's vision, he found himself sinking into the chair for support and coughed at the gas. He looked hazily at Dr. Crane in his mask and suddenly it looked like he was staring at something a tad ugly, a real scarecrow that looked more like the animated remains of a straw-monster, maggots crawling out of it's mouth.

"I'm still not scared Dr. Crane," said Harry in a monotone, heck -he even sounded a bit bored by it though disturbed of the hallucinogenics affect.

He knew he should be scared yet he was not, he knew he should have had another biologicial reaction resulting in fear but he was not, he was only seeing the mind-altering side of the drug and very quickly after blinking it disappeared.

Suddenly it looked like Dr. Crane was wearing a completely non-terrifying poorly made scarecrow mask again.

"Everything stopped looking weird Doc," said Harry "-was that supposed to happen?" stuff shouldn't wear off that quickly.

There was a silence in the therapy room as Dr. Crane very slowly lifted the mask off of his head and put it in the bag, waving off the small remnant of Fear Gas in the air, his immaculate lightly curled-at-side combed brown hair looked ever so slightly out of place.

"No," replied Dr. Crane "-that was not supposed to happen,"

Why did he just feel regret for bringing out the Fear Gas anyway?

* * *

The Joker liked a lack of order, he considered himself an agent of chaos. The way people get antsy at the sight of things not being the way they should be and spiked an unadulterated feeling of utter fear, The Joker liked that.

He liked that a lot.

It gave him an amazing amount of power over people and not the kind of power that you could buy, or that you blackmail for, no, it was the kind that had people running for their very lives and causing a chain reaction of chaos. Like when a fire spreads, and really, that's what The Joker liked the most. When chaos spreads like fire...then he knows he's done his job.

There were times when the established order did things wrong though and sometimes that could cause more chaos then The Joker was aware they were capable of. He was pretty sure the established order "The System" had made a mistake. A lovely, juicy, potentially chaotic mistake.

Of course he had heard the rumour while he was there, before he busted out.

There was a sane man in Arkham Asylum.

Sitting in an abandoned warehouse, propping himself on a throne of boxes, he licked the side of his lip and traced outward a bit to a scar that always made it look like he was smiling. Always smiling.

"Oh! This is just too good," he practically giggled, Gotham might be getting a higher class of criminal after all, and from what he'd heard, he was in the hands of Crane.

The Scarecrow.

The insane were all well and good, but to corrupt someone from the very start...well, that was just beautiful. Art, one might say. It takes something to bring another down to his level.

That was just one thing among many though, first, he was going to make the Batman start sweating again now that he was out and free and then, he may get around to visiting Dr. Crane's patient. Who knows.

It depends if he was feeling artistic.

* * *

"Gotham is quiet," said Bruce Wayne, looking through a huge glass window that had a good view of the city within Wayne Manor. There was nobody else in the large room save for a butler walking in to catch him say it. In the young millionaire's hands was a mask, a bat mask that had not been used in a few weeks, nearly a month.

"Gotham is never quiet Master Bruce," said Alfred, standing beside him and looking out at the bustling megacity.

"I know Alfred, that's why I'm unsettled," replied Bruce with a distant look on his face, as if troubled. Arkham was missing a detainee, yet things were quiet like a calm before a storm.

A newspaper lay on a rich sofa, seemingly untouched with one glaring headline.

**"The Joker Escapes Arkham!"**

**

* * *

**

Truth be told Harry _felt_ fine after being gassed.

Was he fine though?

Dr. Crane hoped the action had not _pushed_ him, despite if that if it did, Harry would have fit in Arkham easier.

He was doing his job for once, making someone better, not _just_ experimenting.

Harry Potter meanwhile was stuck on what he felt for the muggle therapist.

On one hand he was the only person to be completely honest with him, even when it came to his deceptive cover. On the other hand he was a muggle with no idea how much the depth of his pain was centered in magic and the magical world. The muggle could heal his mind, not in the way a mind-healer or a legilimens would forcefully either, but through a method that had been neglected by the magical world. Talking. Emotional development. Recovering.

Not magic. Science, be it mental or medicinal.

Then his magic would be all better, it had to be.

Another side of the therapist, the one described by the rumors of Arkham as a _p__sychologist turned psychopath... _was shown when he put on the mask though. Yet Harry did not fear him, even in psychopath form, the man had remained honest. Asked for his consent. Demented as the action was, he could see a distinct point where he had chipped away at some part of his therapist.

"Our session is over now," said Dr. Crane, trying to pull himself together, shoving the mask into the blackened bag.

"Not yet...please," said Harry slowly, curiosity sparked in his green eyes. The muggle therapist had now gotten his attention in such a way that he had a burning curiosity to know things about him, after all, the man knew a lot about him.

"You said you'd be 'transparent' with me, so it's only fair," Harry gave him a lop-sided smile, in fact his face even felt a bit odd whenever he smiled a bit because the muscles to do so were used so scarcely for those actions since Azkaban.

"-That I get to know you too,"

Jonathan Crane was honestly surprised.

"You're the patient," he reminded Harry.

"Just because you're at the other end of the spectrum of people that come into Arkham -the shrink, doesn't mean we can't turn the tables on their head," Harry smiled again, and Dr. Crane felt weird as he watched that smile on Harry's face. It was nice to see a non-demented grin but it was also strange, he was in Arkham, there was never legitimate smiles, just demented ones.

The smile suited Harry though, it suited his pale face and gave it life to match his bright green eyes, then Jonathan Crane violently cut off the train of thought.

Maybe he'd humor Harry Potter for a while.

"Okay, what do you want to know?"

There was a momentary pause while Harry sat in thought and stared out blankly, just trying to think of a way to make the session longer to stay in the presence of Crane a bit longer.

"What scares you? You ask me this a lot, it's only fair I ask it back,"

* * *

Crane told Harry that he had eliminated most of his fears, he disliked crows to an extent, he was attacked by them as a child. But he wasn't scared of them, he just didn't like them. There was something he feared to a degree, though not as Dr. Crane, but as The Scarecrow.

The Batman.

Harry wanted to learn a bit about Crane so it felt like they were on a level playing field, yet it seemed a lot of what he learned was what Crane thought of him and the things that he said at night.

"We'll end the session now then," Dr. Crane said eventually, exhausted along with Harry at their lengthy time together in room seven.

"I might see you sooner though, when I can get more of the truth out of you," the answer came to him when they had talked of dream recollection.

When Harry Potter was sleeping, he could try and extract the truth. It was when he was at his most vulnerable and when he was far more open albeit very disjointed about the past he would normally refuse to talk about.

He only talked about it when he screamed about it in his sleep, so Dr. Crane resolved to pay him a night time visit.

Harry looked at him oddly on the way back to his cell, not asking what Dr. Crane meant by what he said.

* * *

It became apparent to Dr. Crane that he was getting too close to Harry far too quickly. He should have stopped talking when he mentioned being teased a child, he only said it because his mind made him remember what he heard Harry scream when he listened to the audio-player in his office. Harry had been bullied. Tortured. Abused. Whatever.

As a psychotherapist, it was his job to open up with his patient and feel empathy, not sympathy or the pain they felt on the behalf of their patient would be so tremendous and it'd hinder them. He was feeling both, somewhat, even if it was to such a minor degree. But Crane didn't know what to feel when he watched Harry's expression shift as he gave a very brief over-view of his own past. Eliminating the murders and the darker stuff of course, just leaving what Harry could relate to.

This helped with the patient-doctor trust.

"Ichabod,"

"Scarecow,"

Dr. Crane refrained from scowling or reacting when Harry had repeated those words to him, the names the bullies used to call him. But he saw that Harry was murmuring them to himself then he had carefully studied him. The conversation had continued on the way to Harry's cell with the Arkham guard trailing behind.

"I don't see it," said Harry suddenly, they stopped at the door to his cell.

"See what?"

Dr. Crane was lanky, but to Harry he was merely tall, in his own eyes he thought his arms to be irregularly long since the children in his youth often pointed it out and teased him over it. Though in adult hood Harry would say he was proportionate, if only a bit thinner around the arms and legs, but not irregularly so. He was tall, slender, sleek even though broad-shouldered and generally quite handsome, at least in Harry's opinion.

"Why on Earth anyone one tease _you_ about _your_ looks?," with that, Harry went into his cell and left Dr. Crane standing there blinking owlishly and feeling a continued stare through the window-like viewing glass at him. Though his back was now turned to it as he began to walk to the lower floors and exit Arkham for a lunch break.

Harry definitely wasn't staring at his legs or arms anymore. Smirk.

* * *

During his lunch break, Dr. Crane found himself wondering about some of the books he had back in his home, maybe he'd bring some for Harry, he had two in mind.

The city of Gotham should not have put it's guard down though and the Batman never should either, they should wait in preparation for the darkness that always befell the city.

The Joker was feeling artistic.


	3. Penguins Don't Fly

**Aegri Somnia**

**Latin**- _A sick man's dreams (Horace)_

_VERY A.U-y NOLANVERSE_

_Author's long-ass note: Okay okay, before you all shoot me comic-book fans, I know the Batman franchise has a long rich historical tapestry and what I do know I've recovered from Google and my comic-book obsessive friend. This will probably have holes in it due to the fact I'm not monstrously into the DC universe. The following is written with the Batman live action Nolanverse in mind with elements pulled from the comics to flesh out a history that the movies did not include or did not elaborate on. Don't shoot me fellow nerds._

_HarryxDr Crane. PrisonerHarry, Lemon, Yaoi & Adult situations etc. R&R...well..'tis not mandatory to review but I do rather like it. It lets me know what you think and I rather like keeping my finger on the pulse. Reviewing helps with that. Hintedy hint hint. This is also the longest chapter I've ever written. 7,094 + words. Wow, my fingers actually kinda hurt. The most I ever wrote was the 5,000 last chapter. Holy shit._

_Now, psychology students, please don't shoot me either. Just enjoy the show._

_**DISCLAIMER:**__ I do not own Harry Potter or the Batman franchise._

* * *

The Joker loved chaos as much as he loved to rattle Gotham's Dark Knight. The Scarecrow had been the only one to successfully instil fear within the Batman which was his main weapon. The Joker preferred chaos really, it was more widespread and it was fun to watch people panic and run away like ants from a fire. This was perhaps why a majority of his taunts and challenges and 'fun' was something that would affect the entirety of Gotham City. The Joker had another talent other then causing chaos, monsterizing, yes, that was not a word but it was truly the best way to put it. The Joker could corrupt, could taint and could bring Gotham's hero down to their level.

_Definition: Monsterizing, to turn something into a monster._

The Joker was rather good at that too.

There was someone that The Joker was quite aware of who often caused trouble within the DA office, an idealist they called her. He'd almost killed her. Harvey Dent had adored her but frankly The Joker just didn't see why. Rachel Dawes. That was her name and there was a perfect way to cause trouble within the establishment and simultaneously grab the attention of the Inspector Gordon who would have been a good target but nobody would have predicted Rachel Dawes and The Joker preferred not to be predictable. A rag soaked in chloroform and an infiltrated office later, The Joker thought he left quite a nice piece of_ art_ for the police force. The Joker grinned maniacally when he stalked off into Gotham practically sensing the scream of an intern within the office.

Gordon was almost sick when he arrived onto the scene himself.

Sick and surprised.

A blond was slumped over her desk, dead, but that was not where the horror ended. There was a canvas in the room –the kind a painter would use. On the desk from Rachel Dawes' head was a small pool of blood under a little card, beside it, a paintbrush dipped in the red substance.

"Jesus Christ," whispered Gordon under his breath.

On the canvas was the equivalent of a child's doodle, painted upon it in a shade of red was a poorly drawn bat.

Drawn in the blood of Rachel Dawes, and under the pool of blood dripping off the side of Rachel's head on the desk was a card. A playing card to be exact…

The Joker card.

* * *

There was something eerily calm about Harry Potter that it almost bordered lethargic, though Dr. Crane wouldn't strictly call him that. Bored might be the word, bored of Arkham Asylum to be exact. He didn't like the fact that the place was never quiet, he didn't like the fact that the white walls were so dirty that they gradually got darker and faded into a little collection of dirt that connected to the cold stone floors. Harry didn't like the fact the food they served tasted like baby-food being half-chewed, spat back onto a plate and served back to them. Even in Azkaban they had a loaf of stale bread and some water.

Dr. Crane was very aware of the fact that this place was Hell for him.

He had also ran tests on Harry's blood, and whilst it was human blood some part of it almost seemed animal. Serpentine -or something close to that anyway, which did not make any sense. Either way there was something unknown within Harry's blood and Dr. Crane hadn't the foggiest idea what it was exactly. It didn't match up with any living organism's blood on a scientific database. Harry Potter seemed to create more and more questions without even realizing it. He was an enigma wrapped in a puzzle and it was starting to get under Jonathan Crane's skin.

Dr. Crane was also aware of Harry's somewhat odd reactions to him, his reactions were normal and could be found within a stable society and most humans but he was falling dangerously close into something Dr. Crane wasn't sure if either of them wanted. Erotic Transference, that's what they called it in psychiatry. Normally this would not have jumped into his head but his last little chat with Harry seemed to strongly point toward it. Maybe he was making too much of a big deal about it, maybe he thought too much of himself, maybe he was interpreting Harry's actions and words wrongly.

It was a giant 'maybe'.

He had stopped off at his home after lunch and gone into his personal library pulling out two books he decided to give to Harry, after all, he'd probably read them considering there was hardly anything for a sane man in a padded cell to do other then become as insane as his peers.

One of those books was a rather elementary psychiatric dictionary that defined the words used in his line of work, the other was a very thin book on the professionalism obligatorily used by therapists with their patients.

When he stopped off to deliver it to Harry's cell back in his Arkham cell, Harry nodded and accepted the odd choice of gift and took it as a token off kindness from Crane who knew of his boredom with surviving in Arkham as a reasonably sane man.

* * *

Crane ran a single finger through the soft brown curl of his hair and stared at the clock in his office, waiting for the late hours. On his desk was Harry Potter's progress files, he kept writing in that he was getting better and better. The improvements were not massive but it felt like just through their sessions every time he saw Harry the physical abnormalities -his mild underweight-ness and bags under his eyes seemed to improve. Crane was used to walking into a patient's room and seeing pure unadulterated fear in their eyes, instead when he stepped into Harry's he'd see an almost animated look. The lethargy and boredom that seemed to emanate him would stop at the drop of a hat from the moment he walked in and Harry would look at him as if he expected something. That Crane could hand down everything he needed to "fix" him with a few words and healing time. He'd seen the scarecrow mask yet he had not requested another therapist, he was fine with Dr. Crane, happy even.

Harry Potter was baffling and what was weirder, was that Crane found himself not minding the fact that the green-eyed teen did not fear him.

He saw the security camera in Harry's room had been switched on for a moment to see that he was sleeping and twitching uncomfortably on the mattress in his padded up cell. He told the Arkham guard to remain silent but vigilant and not step in unless he specified them to.

None of them questioned Crane silently creeping into Harry's room, he stood at the bed and listened to Harry's sleepy mumblings that had yet to develop into screams.

This would be the only time he could ever get the truth out of Harry, because it was the only time he'd ever admit it. Only when he was in the threshold of his pain within his nightmares did he ever tell the truth, sometimes he'd scream it. They'd be no illusive mystery-answers that Dr. Crane was getting so used to, he would get honesty.

"Harry_,_" he murmured in a soft, calm whisper, determination within his narrowed blue eyes, the boy twitching on the bed let out a little sleepy grunt, hearing a voice call his names within his dreams.

_"...plays 'Harry Hunting'...tries to...nobody...believes...me.." _his sleepy rambles were rather disjointed. It sounded like something from his childhood and Crane was thankful he switched the audio-recorder on.

Harry was as sane as they come save for his violent nightmare-episodes, there was a question hanging in Jonathan Crane's mind. Harry's nightmares were a barrel of issues that Crane had spent most of therapy weeding through those and established the bloody patient-doctor trust.

Harry seemed too...good, too awfully nice and he was yet to observe anything that classed him as violently criminal per say. His datafile didn't even list why exactly he was in a state facility to begin with, it was all briefly alluded too but not even clearly stated. It didn't seem right to Crane, and he had yet to start chasing up the mysterious agencies and phone numbers listed, he wanted to talk to his patient first.

"Harry... what is someone like you doing in Arkham Asylum, what are you doing here?" his voice was soft and it almost carried pity, like a man talking to a child.

_"...not my fault...didn't...kill...her...Ms Bones..._" replied the sleeping rasping figure that writhed around on the mattress within his nightmares, just answering a voice he was hearing. A lovely calming deep voice that sounded familiar and was gently tearing at the fabric of his nightmares.

Crane froze.

Harry Potter? His patient, the sanest man in Arkham Asylum -was in for murder?

_"Ministry...cover...up.."_

Jonathan Crane felt a surge of victory and excitement and unwillingly found his voice rising in volume because of it.

"Ministry? What Ministry? Why cannot I find what the irregularity in your blood is? How is it you destroy your way out of straight-jackets? Why keep all these secrets?" Crane fired the questions he was desperate to know the answers to. The boy on the bed ceased answering him and violently jerked on the mattress. Perspiration dripping down his temple as the panting became heavier for a moment, the movements stopped and suddenly long lashes parted and he found a set of confused green eyes, though demanding ones staring at him. The volume of the voice that had cut through his dreams had pulled him entirely into the land of the awakened.

Crane stared down at the beautifully disheveled patient who was staring up at him, he knew how it must have looked. Him creepily standing there holding his personal sound recorder, watching him and talking to him as he slept, looming over him.

"_**W-what are you doing Dr. Crane?**_" managed a somewhat breathless Harry, confusion within his irises.

Dr. Crane knew he owed Harry some kind of answer.

* * *

Harry felt a little intruded on by the end of it and the faintest bit angry whilst looking a bit alarmed, worried about what he'd exposed to the doctor. He understood that the man was frustrated by the fact he couldn't reveal certain things due to the Statute of Secrecy. He didn't ask for consent, he had just come in and asked for answers at his most vulnerable moment. His dreams were rather nice when a silky baritone had cut through them, but his sleep-addled and vulnerable mind should not have let the answers leak from his mouth. It was a grievous moment of weakness.

_'How dare this...bloody holier-then-thou muggle just..._' his jumbled sleepy-thoughts assembled some sense of outrage.

Crane realized his action, done in desperation for truth, could have shattered the carefully assembled trust he had with the only patient he'd ever had an honest interest in.

At the end of the day, it was to help him, but Harry was still violated by the action of Crane coming into his room and quite literally stealing the truth out of him, or at least bits of it.

"I'm sorry,"

Dr. Crane had never said sorry for what he did to his patients, this was a first to himself too. He had surprised himself but he would have said anything to wipe the awful mix of betrayal, distrust and wariness off of Harry's gentle features. He was a man who for all intents and purposes, could switch off his morality and sense of medical ethics when it pleased him though now it seems he had momentarily lost control of the ability when he found himself uttering "I'm sorry,".

"What happened to 'transparency'? The honest approach? Or am I actually just a 'crazy' who needs to be placated one moment, and then treated like a criminal liar the next minute requiring you to try and steal the truth off of me when I'm bloody vulnerable?" Harry wished that had come out more artfully, but he was angry and confused and sleepy.

Dr. Crane winced at the sudden shouting and bluntness and held his hands up in a mock-surrender.

"I...I was just...too impatient for answers Harry. I apologize, I regret doing this, I hope this has not shattered the trust we've formed," said Crane awkwardly, not sure if he meant it or not, which was amazing because normally this would have been said to save face for the fact he was caught in the act when he shouldn't have been, yet he was actually wondering the sincerity of his apologies. Maybe he meant them?

There was a small awkward conversation that ensued as Harry sat upright on the bed and attempted to fix up his disheveled appearance.

It ended with Dr. Crane walking out of the cell feeling distinctly less victorious despite what little answer he may have snagged.

* * *

Dr. Crane had a needle of disappointment when Harry was not going to their next therapy session, well, he didn't have the option but he raised a brow when he found two Arkham guards bringing him into room seven by his arms. Harry hadn't kicked up a huge fuss like most would, but simply didn't bother moving off of his mattress until dragged up.

"Are you really this angry with me that you didn't even want to come to the session?" asked Dr. Crane softly.

"I'm not that angry anymore doc, but I'm trusting you a whole lot less," admitted Harry. Crane barely bit-back a visible wincing reaction, not even his scarecrow-incident with this particular patient shattered or chipped at 'the trust' because even then Crane had decided to ask for permission. This was something he did not do with most of his 'crazies', if anything Harry was his 'sane' yet by going and sneaking into his cell and using non-approved methods of gaining information...

He'd inadvertently treated Harry like just another one of the Arkham crazies. He wasn't. Both of them knew this.

"If I was as angry as I am distrusting I would have asked to see another shrink," sighed Harry "-but I didn't," it showed that like he previously stated, he wasn't that angry. Just a touch betrayed, though really a part of him told him that he should be used to that by now.

Jonathan Crane did not like the way things were going and all of a sudden his patient seemed to be doing what he did quite frequently. He turned the tables on their head so-to-speak.

"-Why did you get me those books anyway? I read that stupid Erotic Transference book and let me just say-" Harry had evidently been working up a bit of frustration over it. Crane grimaced knowing the tirade coming probably wasn't going to end for a while.

_Definition - :_

_- Erotic Transference: To Fall For One's Therapist._

At first Harry assumed Crane had just picked something off of his own private libraries without looking but after yesterday's fiasco he came to learn the man never did something without a reason and usually an ulterior reason behind that one to boot. Then he realized Crane had given him that particular book for a reason. Harry couldn't believe the nerve and ego of this guy! Then he realized over the sessions he had displayed a few signs of the emotional attachment but it was out of desperation as he talked to nobody else within Arkham...and well...

Nobody ever visited.

As much as it pained Harry to acknowledge it, he could see Crane's reasoning in getting him the book. He hadn't brought the topic up of Erotic Transference in conversation though, probably to save awkwardness or avoid actually voicing the fact he could have misread signs. The book was supposed to be a hint but Harry had straight up called the doctor out on it.

The tension was almost tangible within the air and the argument was heated in the soundproofed room. To be honest the words coming out of Crane's mouth were quite automatic but whatever he was saying must have calmed the red-faced angry male down slightly.

"You know, everyone says your sadistic!" hissed Harry, flipping through the medical dictionary and slapping it into the desk, Harry leaned over the desk to stare down Crane easier but also cause the tension via proximity to increase into absolute tangibility.

"It wouldn't surprise me if the nut was running the nuthouse,"

_Definition - :_

_- Sadism_

_[In Psychiatry] sexual gratification gained through causing pain or degradation to others [see masochism]_

Crane's eyes flickered down to the definition of the word underlined on the page under the 'S' catagory of the psychiatric dictionary he had gotten Harry merely so he could understand the terms used in the other book.

Harry was saying more things now, and at the back of his mind he knew he probably deserved it. He infringed upon Harry's privacy when he had initially promised transparency and instead was caught sneaking around for answers. Harry was also dragged in like a rather weak doll by two of the guards at Arkham so it showed he wasn't quite ready to be in his presence but was none-the-less forced.

Dr. Crane snapped back into the argument when he could hear Harry trying to anger him, frustrate him even as a type of subconscious payback.

"-so, get off to other people's pain then hmm? That's obviously popular opinion around here _Scarecrow_. So when I was writhing around in pain in my bed or when you switch on the bloody camera in my cell, were you getting off to it?" he snarled. Harry was obviously trying to get under his skin and it was working a little.

The boy who had leaned forward on the desk to get all up in his face about it now found himself thrown back onto the desk entirely by Dr. Crane's strength in comparison to the detainee kept on a weak diet.

Just like the Arkham guard had done, he was moved like a rag doll.

"Don't assume such disgusting things about me Potter!" that had come out far more viciously then he had intended. He also hadn't meant to throw Harry onto his desk and have him laying on it rather frazzled and a touch hurt. For a man who was fairly weak in hand-to-hand combat the apparent ease in which he had thrown the boy-war-veteran was a bit disturbing to say the least.

Dr. Crane didn't even want to think it as he looked down on the detainee who was looking up at him through long lashes with angry verdant green eyes that easily made emeralds look insignificant in value and beauty. Dr. Crane felt a shoot of self-disgust when he noticed the dull fascination with Harry's soft gasps for breath as he bordered groaning in pain when his back impacted the desk, chest moving up and down rhythmically. It wouldn't have bothered him if it wasn't his patient, then he found himself quite moved by the fact that he again lost his control over when he considers his medical ethics and when he doesn't. The book which had defined _sadism_ had been violently thrown to the floor when he had slung Harry onto the desk animalistically, his eyes flickered to it, wondering whether to pick it up.

_"_Bloody hell I didn't mean it_,"_ gasped out Harry, looking up into Dr. Crane's bright blue eyes as the man loomed over him.

"I know, you were just trying to get me as angry at you as you are at me, for a moment it worked," grumbled Crane, backing down.

"I didn't think you would stoop to that though," said Crane, watching Harry uncomfortably sit up on the desk he had been thrown onto like a corpse on an autopsy bed. He was now staring up from his cushioned chair at Harry who was staring down to meet his eyes. It was odd to have a patient looming over him and splaying themselves quite casually on the desk, ignoring the chair but he'd allow it since he'd practically laid into Harry when he should have maintained a lid on his inward outrage at what Harry had said. It was a wind-up. He knew it, but he had gotten annoyed anyway.

"Well doc, you gave me the tools and well... I just picked up on what everyone's been saying. We addressed the rumors in one session but you told me they were just that, rumors in an insane asylum, yet you didn't directly tell me they weren't true. Then eventually you pulled the gassy stuff on me, kind of surprised you asked for my consent though, but anyway...it showed at least some parts of rumors must be accurate," said Harry lazily tipping his head to one side and Crane witnessed the return of lethargy that usually disappeared from Harry when he walked into room seven had returned.

Crane didn't mind it, but the state of mild lethargy was too eerily calm for someone that was angry not too long ago.

"-bearing that in mind and all the access you have to me, sadism in the dictionary and you proving at least a bit of the hearsay to be true...I had to ask," drawled Harry, who was currently grasping at straws to make the session last longer, despite previously not wanting to be around Crane due to being angry at him. Though after thinking about it and annoying the doctor with his presence, he found this to be a way of leveling the playing field, and in honesty this was the first [corrupt] person to attempt_ helping_ him. He couldn't exactly remain angry at Jonathan Crane that long, for a muggle, he was actually quite...good for Harry.

"You were serious?" there was absolute disbelief in Crane's voice -could Harry have been serious when he asked if he 'got off' to seeing him in pain? It had to have been a wind up.

Suddenly the male on the desk began cracking up and laughing for the first time in a long time as he saw the smear of red making it's way over Crane's cheeks unwillingly. The man probably didn't realize it, he was still serious and stone faced behind his glasses, his blue eyes betraying his emotion behind them though.

"I think we should add '_gullible_' to that dictionary alongside your picture doc, no offense," Harry was joking.

Joking.

Harry Potter could tell certain things even if he wasn't particularly good at reading people, he could tell Crane wasn't the type to blush so when he was he probably didn't realize it. A mix of sternness and mild irritation crossed over by the out of place blush on the doctor's cheeks which already had handsomely prominent cheekbones made Harry's stare become fixated. The glasses, the neatly done psychiatrist look was almost too perfect, Harry had not allowed such analysis over the muggle but caved to his bubbling feelings that had not frothed forth since Azkaban had damaged a good part of his emotional capacity for such.

Jonathan Crane was dressed to the nines, slacks, loafers, nicely ironed out blazer which showed off a strong set of shoulders narrowing to his slender figure as his eyes roved down. Under the blazer was a rather modest black jumper which had a polo shirt underneath that, a red tie tucked along beneath the jumper and done squarely up to the top button of his white collar. Over all of this was a very loosely worn white open coat that had a name-tag on it. To others he may seem mundane or geeky in appearance but facially he was a mix of aristocratic yet gentle with succulent lips, prominent cheek bones, immaculate hair, stunning big blue eyes accentuated by glasses that sat on the bridge of his nose. The out of place blush made Harry want to pull the man up off the chair to his tie onto his feet and dishelve him more, yet not put a hair out of place, he wanted to peel the clothes off Crane's slender form and yet keep them on as he looked so good in them. Conflicting.

Through the silence that followed Harry's laughter, the tension could be felt in the air again, though a distinctively different one as Dr. Crane picked up on the almost searching stare he was getting under the green gaze.

Harry tried to violently cut off his thoughts and hope the need to suddenly cross one leg over the other wouldn't arrive and cursed Azkaban for it's repression and himself for his lack of control.

"You know, I haven't laughed in such a long time that my face actually feels odd," said Harry finally as he ghosted his fingers by the side of his mouth as he felt his facial muscles tingle from the workout of actually laughing.

"I think you might have fixed me a bit doc," said Harry in a quieter tone as Crane merely raised an eyebrow and faught the urge to smile back.

"I hope so Harry," he returned.

"I think the whole _Erotic Transference_ thing is a load of bollocks," said Harry suddenly. His eyes roving to the book discarded on the floor, it mentioned how forbidden falling-for-the-therapist was, the fact it was interpreted as morally wrong in the medical profession and such. He could see their points but it was far too aggressively clean cut, what if some people legitimately fell in love?

"Pardon?" Crane asked coolly.

"Not even getting into the specifics about it but...it doesn't exactly apply Dr. Crane, not to you anyway, you can switch your medical ethics and morals on and off from what I can tell," shrugged Harry innocently "-I wish I could do that," it would have spared him so much pain.

Though now he felt like all he wanted was happiness and he didn't care where he got it, how he got it or for who dare get in the way of it.

Dr. Crane was somewhat amoral, though not entirely but Harry envied him anyway.

"Interesting," his eyes narrowed as he mulled Harry's statement over.

There was empathy between them and a trust he had not bothered to establish with other patients or people before, Harry had proven that on occasion he could view him as an object worthy of physical lust. They were rather open about it, he also needed Harry's continued faith in him until he could gather anything 'true' about this anomaly and then carefully unwrap the mysteries he'd covered himself with. There was a way of doing that, though not a medically ethical one -not that Crane cared too much for it.

He also didn't want to admit to his self-shame when he thought of Harry in a bizarrely sexual manner when he'd caved into an anger and alpha-male-like primeval urge for dominance and thrown him into the desk. Harry had bright green eyes, tresses of healthy long black hair, bangs hiding a unique lightning bolt scar quite nicely and a pale reflection not unlike the shade of moonlight. The panting, the rhythmic movement of his chest and the defeated look that flashed in his eyes when he'd apologized. He didn't want to admit those things sent a surge of positivity, but Harry knew it, and he knew it.

"Well then, where do we go from here Harry?" asked Crane in his now normal, painfully monotone demeanor.

"Our sessions are almost all day now, yet while we make progress the idea of you being fit enough to face discharge and parole is looking like it'll take more and more time. No matter how much I fit you in, unless there was a way for me to conclusively prove you're fit enough for society," Harry could practically see the cogs turning in Crane's mind as he spoke.

"If I put you under closer monitoring and you can prove your coping with your episodes and maintain normal societal behavior... convincing higher ups to put you forward for discharge would be easier. It'd be good in your parole hearing, as for integrating you into real society itself, perhaps..." Crane trailed off. That always came up in the hearings for anyone coming out of Arkham -can they be trusted in society and could they cope?

Crane had an idea, and was suddenly glad for how much power his name held. He was the number one psychologists in the state and maybe even the globe. He was renowned within his field and he was quite aware of how to work the court. He'd gotten guilty men out of Arkham before, perhaps for once, he could get an innocent man out to.

"I'm sure you'd prefer not to be released into a hostel of some sort with random people checking on you, so, if you're not adverse to it Harry, would you like me to remain your therapist even if you left Arkham?" asked Dr. Crane, pressing his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose and giving his patient a measuring look. Everything was falling into place too perfectly, he could almost grin ear-to-ear like a cat that had caught the canary.

"How would that be possible?" Harry couldn't picture himself getting used to being without Crane so quickly. So far the muggle had helped him more then anyone had, Hell, the fact he'd even made an honest go to in the first place was something that elevated him to a higher status in Harry's mind. For someone who had no one, Crane was perhaps his last and only hope that he didn't want to let slip through his fingers or maybe he really would go mad. To have kindness dangled in his face after so long and the prospect of it being suddenly yanked away and being thrown into a cold, crime-ridden corner of America. A country he wasn't even used to.

"If I was at your parole hearing, if we got it in Gotham after all, perhaps I could get you released into my custody. It would appease the board I know that much and resolve any doubt that you'll have issue integrating and being kept under careful watch," mused Crane out loud. It gave him a chance to have the anomaly all to himself and keep tests and such off the record easier. He'd have unlimited access, prospects and possibilities that usually made it hard for the heavily guarded and watched asylum to do. He could even use it as an excuse to get Harry to trust him and then exploit the trust to find the answers he'd been burning to know. Then he could chase up the mysterious agencies involved with Harry's incarceration once he got the full picture.

The media could jump on this -a man could be reformed, restored, the system worked! He could become a moniker for therapeutic cures and the incarceration system of Gotham which was constantly under criticism. It could give Crane more positive publicity, he could just picture it -then the DC office would have to get off of his back and the board of medical misconduct would have another healthy dose of illusion of how good he was as a person to keep their noses out or remain suspicion-free of his misconduct.

Hell, he could even use it as an excuse to take long excursions away from his work at Arkham to concentrate exclusively on Harry Potter. His enigma wrapped in a puzzle, whom he alone would solve.

The usually cold and calculating Jonathan Crane found himself thrown for a loop when he realized there were practically tears of joy rising in green iris's that had so much hope in them, the previous lethargy he saw in Harry momentarily disappeared. The patient launched himself off the desk into Crane, literally not wanting to let the chance slip through his fingers. Crane seized up but then remembered he was in the presence of Arkham's least violent. It took a moment to register the action, it was an embrace: a hug.

Blinking owlishly for a moment but too cold to return it, his eyes flitted to the book on the floor again, then it became apparent it was becoming very uncomfortable again.

Very dully he could make out that Harry was mumbling '_thank you_'s into his chest, maybe even crying a bit. Such a reaction was not something surprising, to any one else yes, but not to Crane. He guessed a number of things about Harry which their sessions together had proved, Harry Potter was not used to having nice things. If he had, then he at least expected them to be yanked away from him. Harry was not used to having proper emotional supports in place either and it became evident from the severity of his reaction that he also did not expect kindness. The snippets of his past were dark but Jonathan Crane suspected that what he didn't know was even darker.

So he made no effort to physically remove Harry, but for the sake of the book on the floor offered a moot point.

"This is getting uncomfortable for a variety of reasons," managed Crane, resisting the urge to shift around in the cushioned chair as he was very aware of the other body that was collapsed over him. Eventually Harry backed up and found himself sitting directly in Crane's lap, embarrassed to have thrown himself from the desk into his therapist, he smiled sheepishly.

Harry's gaze followed the psychiatrist's at the book tossed on the floor titled 'Erotic Transference'.

It highlighted how relations between a therapist and their patient that transcended professionalism were wrong and the psychological inner-workings of it and how such a thing happened and how it became frequent enough to warrant itself as a section of psychiatry that required serious consideration.

"Load of bollocks that book is," murmured Harry, resting into Crane again though this time knowing he had no excuse to do so, and should have removed himself.

In terms of medical ethics, the book had valid points, but Harry's chaotic life which was naught but a string of disasters now had very simple goals.

Freedom and happiness, in that order. He believed he sacrificed enough for this world and ultimately he was abused for it as Scrimgoer had him thrown into prison facilities and even pushed off out of Britain merely to get him out the way. Used and abused. Now Harry didn't care where he got his happiness from or ultimately where he found freedom, he didn't care for anything that would get in the way of it anymore because he spent his entire life being selfless and yet still being forsaken at the end of it all. He voiced such thoughts to Crane who nodded in understanding and decided not to press the points of Harry's life that required his selfless acts, he had more then enough time to unwrap the puzzle that was, his patient.

But this digresses from the point, in a nutshell, Harry didn't care much for whatever unwritten or written rules it broke if he wanted to be happy in his way and if that was with the muggle doctor then nuts to the book on the floor. To him it was a load of bollocks and that's all it ever would be and to Dr. Crane he could choose whether he wanted to apply it's ethics, but he switched those on-and-off at will, so really there was no longer a professional barrier that separated any more-then-platonic feelings between a patient and their doctor. Between Harry James Potter and Jonathan Crane. Wizard and muggle. Light and dark.

Harry had continued the conversation from Crane's lap and the doctor had given up trying to get him to move having not exactly employed any method to. He just kept motionless and tried not to cause a body friction that could cause the tension in the room to thicken anymore lest they suffocate under it.

The Scarecrow feared he was going soft but then reminded himself of his purely business motives.

Yet that seemed like a child trying to justify why their hand was caught in the cookie-jar when he used it as justification in his mind.

Yes his purely business motives were very much applicable, but to deny the fact any feelings played no factor would be like trying to claim that penguins could indeed fly.

Penguins class as birds, some argue mammal, but either way they _don't_ fly.

Feelings _are_ involved.

The Scarecrow was not getting soft, but perhaps the other side of him, Dr. Crane might be.

There was only one thing two people did with that kind of tension in a room, with that close a proximity and with that sole awkward stare into the eyes of another when they search for anything else to say but can't.

This was how Jonathan Crane could find himself sloping down into the therapist chair in room seven with Harry looming above him from his lap, face leaning down into him and tresses of black hair falling forward to touch graze his face as he felt lips over his. Harry didn't have a good romantic past, so he decided to throw what he thought he knew out of the window and bit-the-bullet so to speak. He was rather good at it, even if the other man couldn't exactly tell due to having absolutely no romantic history behind him whatsoever.

Harry tried not to let the slender man slip between his fingers as he feared the hope he had riding on him would not, causing the arms around Crane to tighten slightly, and the kiss to harshen and perhaps border aggressive.

Jonathan found he didn't mind either way, and continued to melt into the chair, now totally sure what few medical ethics he had were beaten like a dead horse by a pissed off and vengeful jockey.

Too soon to call it love, too deep to call it infatuation, more then one kind of feeling to class as lust.

Harry didn't think he'd find a touch of joy in such confusion, but was pleasantly surprised when he did and decided it was easier not to care where your happiness in life came from.

When the therapy in room seven ended abruptly after the kiss and no more, Crane found himself smirking without control on it and Harry found himself walking without the haunting calmness. The borderline lethargy...it had gone for at least a moment.

The Erotic Transference book lay forgotten on the floor of room seven for cleaners, but not before a giant slightly-muddied boot-print hit the cover directly as Jonathan Crane walked out and headed for his office, trying to refocus on the rest of his work and failing. Dammit, maybe he was going soft, but then again, maybe it'd be worth it for his anomaly.


	4. The Mystery of the Ministry

**Aegri Somnia**

**Latin**- _A sick man's dreams (Horace)_

_VERY A.U-y NOLANVERSE_

_Author's long-ass note: Okay okay, before you all shoot me comic-book fans, I know the Batman franchise has a long rich historical tapestry and what I do know I've recovered from Google and my comic-book obsessive friend. This will probably have holes in it due to the fact I'm not monstrously into the DC universe. The following is written with the Batman live action Nolanverse in mind with elements pulled from the comics to flesh out a history that the movies did not include or did not elaborate on. Don't shoot me fellow nerds._

_**HarryxDr Crane. PrisonerHarry, Lemon, Yaoi & Adult situations etc.** R&R...well..'tis not mandatory to review but I do rather like it. It lets me know what you think and I rather like keeping my finger on the pulse. Reviewing helps with that. Hintedy hint hint. This chapter may also paint my own views on American politics in one or two references, but many governments have corruption...and I'm born and raised here in the UK, so honestly I don't give two shits about the Dems vs Repubs in the USA. I'm just putting this out there so I don't get people pointing and complaining about it._

_Democrats look weak, republicans look stupid and frankly most political parties have their faults, I just don't care so please don't bother complaining.  
_

_Now, psychology students, please don't shoot me either. Just enjoy the show.  
_

_**DISCLAIMER:**__ I do not own Harry Potter or the Batman franchise._

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The next session the following day in room seven actually involved very little therapy. It was quite simply a relatively normal conversation between a convicted man and another, who had an experience with the court system. Harry and Dr. Crane were talking about a parole hearing and what he'd need to even stand a chance.

For a horrible moment Harry found his hope disintegrate, he'd need a good lawyer and good lawyers costed money and his assets were frozen upon his incarceration.

Crane must have seen it on his face because his expression changed and Harry found himself even more indebted to the man who quickly said he had connections. He knew Falcone's old lawyer quite well, if anything he could make the guy who got OJ Simpson off look like a hack. Even luckier for Harry was that Crane knew how to get around the man and call upon a favour.

"But they cost money – ," began Harry softly, he usually hated charity but he needed whatever he could get but the guilt of accepting it still plunged into him as it would have before his incarceration.

"—That I have more then enough of, I assure you," cut in Dr. Crane smoothly.

"You're going above and beyond," mumbled Harry, cogs turning in his mind.

"There's another reason isn't there? Why you're doing all of this? I'm pretty sure it's not your conscience," stated Harry dryly at a man he could regard as semi-amoral.

Dr. Crane's fingers knotted into each other as he looked at Harry critically who was staring back at him unblinkingly. He could quite easily read the look on his face; he was hoping there was an iota of emotional attachment that could explain why he was going to such lengths to help him with his parole. Harry knew it was either that or he was being used for something, that was always how things had been.

"What makes you say it's not my conscience?" said Dr. Crane coolly, though not offended.

Harry was flustered for a moment, he didn't want to risk anything that'd insult his therapist accidentally, though the man was hard to insult, Harry did not feel like being thrown into the desk. Even if after what they'd did later such an action would not have constituted anger or apology if it happened now, Harry wasn't sure how far it would go and the last thing he wanted was to lose himself completely over Crane.

Or maybe he did want that but was too nervous about it since his stint in emotionally damaging facilities and his abysmal romantic past.

"Well err… you tend to switch those kinds of feelings on and off," reasoned Harry.

"Why would I resist to such feelings when they come to you though?" said Dr. Crane calmly.

"Why wouldn't you? You've told me some stuff about you doc, you like picking the brains of nutters, it's why you work here isn't it?" began Harry and continued as Crane gave him a careful look and seemed to be mulling over every word dripping from his mouth with deep concentration.

"You told me about the gas stuff you used, about how you practically investigate fear and God only knows why you do what you do," actually Harry could take a fair few guesses as to why Crane did it, but didn't think he knew the man long enough to make such judgements.

"-but I haven't been reacting have I? The first few sessions after you got what you needed down on my file, it was baiting me wasn't it? Testing on me? I kind of figured it out after but I never called you on it but now you're going too far," finished Harry, tugging a piece of his white sleeved Arkham garb guiltily.

"Too far?" Dr. Crane's voice practically demanded that Harry elaborate, he didn't understand, he stopped the testing for now and the whole talk of parole was something they both wanted but the second he mentioned costs for lawyers suddenly Harry was backpedaling like crazy.

"I didn't care too much when it compromised my health and I probably should have, but now I'm compromising your finances, it's someone other then myself who's paying for my essential release which isn't guaranteed. Is it too wrong that the guilt of this is niggling at me horribly?" when Harry finished saying that, Crane wouldn't be surprised if his normally stoic face hadn't betrayed utter shock, surprise even.

"I tested on you Harry," said Crane very slowly "-I've gone beyond my jurisdiction as your psychotherapist, but when I am trying to legitimately help you, you accuse me of going 'too far'?" Crane couldn't help it… he chuckled.

Harry shrank a bit in the chair as a baritone chuckle reached his ears, though not a spiteful one. He looked at Dr. Crane to see slight mirth glittering in the depths of his deep blue irises.

"I admit, a large part of my help is to get you released into my custody specifically. There are my 'research reasons' like when I took your blood sample to find out why no medication worked on you, but I admit you've grown on me." Crane chose his next words very carefully because truthfully he tried desperately to avoid thinking about the non patient-doctor side of their relationship because it was immensely confusing.

Dr. Jonathan Crane hated being confused and confusing things in general.

Harry looked at Crane carefully and nodded, appreciating the man's honesty. So, there had been ulterior motives but when pushed the doctor revealed them quite easily. Harry Potter realized something else too; it was possibly for someone to have conflicting motives –good motives and purely business ones. It was possible for someone to use someone as means to an end and still care about them. Just like Dumbledore did for him –but at the time Harry had not understood how that was possible and assumed it was manipulation.

Now he understood.

Unlike Dumbledore though, Crane had been forthcoming with his business ends when asked directly.

"So the end of yesterday's session…," said Harry meekly, which didn't suit the eighteen-year-old-adult too much considering his normal casual lethargy and serious-calmness "_—you liked it?_"

"Yes, and I'm sure I don't have to explain to you why everyone outside of this room will see it as 'wrong'," stated Crane curtly.

"I know, I know, I read the stupid book," for a moment they both wondered what became of the Erotic Transference book but then discarded the thought "—the key is secrecy, I can take a hint," said Harry with a minor blush. The whole thing felt rather sordid considering the forbidden nature of their intimacy –but isn't that what made such relationships…exciting?

A huge portion of romance novelists and those addicted to a dangerous kind of love would agree.

"What do you see this as though?" asked Harry hesitantly.

"You interest me Harry," said Crane carefully "—you're quite the mystery. There's an appeal in that, as in the fact you're able to think of me as something…physically pleasing," it was weird to say it and even weirder to believe it. But Crane felt himself shift from side to side slightly as Harry gave him a measuring look.

He felt Harry staring at his arms which, personally he always saw them to be disproportionate, too long. His childhood was filled with cruelty and bullies who had called him 'Ichabod' after a character from _The Legend of Sleepy Hollow_.

Growing up he was shunned for his lanky frame, long arms and spindly legs. Stick-insect, spider, 'Ichabod', 'Scarecrow' were what they called him, the latter two being the most popular until he grew a tongue that developed a taste for vengeance and fear against his bullies. Then it was against everyone who had wronged him no matter how minor, and then to the half-innocent –criminally insane 'crazies'. Innocents in general…

"Maybe I don't know where the other feelings I am associating with you are coming from, but they are real," said Crane flatly, revealing that he was just as confused as Harry was. Normally he would have no such qualms about testing or using someone and he would not have developed the feelings that he had.

"You're sure?"

"I believe so,"

After that when either of them tried to remember back to what exactly was said afterward it was nothing but a blur of body movement and teasing that bordered sensual.

Jonathan Crane could remember being enthusiastically pressed into the therapist chair by his sanest patient and feeling fingers running through his hair and left artfully disheleved.

Normally he didn't think his past needing digging up, his life devotion to conquering fear, dominating it and becoming it to instil fears in those who wronged him gave him the security that he'd gotten past it. It didn't bother him, it didn't haunt his dreams but it did affect the perception he had of himself even though he did not think it did. He still thought himself somewhat ugly. He didn't think there was anything wrong with his face, but it was his body. He felt himself to be disproportionate to a point.

Such thoughts were being slowly weeded out and sanded down when Harry began to lose control for his body and he welcomed it.

They had gotten at their closest until Crane stopped it for some reason when the risk hit him like a ton of bricks.

"The door…it's not got a lock," he had gasped out and just like that the hot moment in therapy room seven died. Harry had frowned slightly and relented, the hand that been teasing him through the fabric of his clothes between his legs came to a gentle stop. Walking out of room seven attempting to fix his disheleved brown hair and awkwardly hiding an erection as he got out of Arkham was one of the more embarrassing moments he'd had in a while.

Crane was still kicking himself over making Harry stop in case someone came in.

It was in his dreams now which made him feel bizarrely young, though only twenty he felt himself too old to be waking up in pools of sweat from fantasies that were enough to make anyone blush to the point they wouldn't look at their own reflection.

"Focus. Work," he mumbled to himself as he left Arkham early the following day after a quick consultation with Harry –who had pleaded with him to stay, but he insisted their session had to be a short one so he could work from home for the day.

Normally this would not be allowed, all work within Arkham Asylum was centred there and not to be taken out of its walls unless moved to another official building that kept hold of patient's data. However, Dr. Crane was the leading psychologists [former professor in the subject also] of the state with numerous prizes and other responsibilities acknowledged by the Arkham administrative board. They let him work the rest of the day at home on what he simply made up as private and separate studies into the field that he required time at home to look at. So they granted it him and didn't really question it.

Dr. Crane found himself staring again at Harry's documents that he shouldn't have taken with him without proper authority but did so anyway. He spent all day calling up the mysterious agencies involved with Harry's incarceration. He was sure his phone bills were now astronomical from so many calls out of the USA to Britain.

He was talking to numerous people that were using careful euphemisms he could not quite figure out, it was like there was a monumental secret that was being kept from him as the fact he had the numbers to the mysterious British grouping within government that had involvement with the imprisonment of Harry Potter.

Whatever secret it was, clearly Harry knew what it was and told him that it was guarded by the 'Statute of Secrecy' hence why nobody was revealing it to Crane.

All he knew was a mysterious sect within the British government was involved with the incarceration of Harry Potter, calling itself 'The Ministry'. One of the agencies listed was called 'The British Ministry-to-Muggle Relations Centre,' which was involved with something called 'The Cleaners [Obliviators]'.

Questions ran clear through Crane's mind when he finally hung up his phone and let out a long withering sigh.

What the hell was a 'Muggle' and 'The Cleaners [Obliviators]'?

Crane felt that whatever was going on stank of 'conspiracy' and where there was this much secrecy and government entanglement there's the increase of danger. Through careful analysis and calls he made where he bluffed and waffled and pretended to know who the hell he was talking to when he inquired about Harry Potter's movements from Britain and history there before he came to Gotham. He was able to draw that whoever 'The Cleaners [Obliviators]' were, they were a force he would probably do well not to attract their attention by being found out he had no idea who he was talking to.

"What in the name of Science is all of this?" he felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple. There had been few breakthroughs of him attempting to find out what 'The Statute of Secrecy' hid and Harry's mysterious past in Britain, Azkaban…only more questions which he was sure Harry probably would not answer or could not due to the statute.

He questioned Harry about it the next day anyway.

"A lot of people hurt me back there; I wish you'd tell me when you go digging. If you ask questions in the wrong way, people will be after you and I don't want that to happen," he didn't want his therapist to be obliviated for uncovering the secret of the magical world's existence accidentally. He didn't want it. He liked Jonathan Crane, he was the only man to show him any kind of compassion and even he was corrupt yet he had not lost sight of helping him. Harry still liked him and found a taste of happiness with him.

So fuck the magical world, they would not take Crane from him.

"I don't want them to take you away, so please stop digging," pleaded Harry, with desperation glowing within the depths of his green iris's when he looked at Crane who was trying to remain unperturbed by the fact he was digging up something that could very well put him in danger.

" 'Them' ?" queried Crane lightly.

"You know who! The people who you rang! Just stop! I'll tell you I swear! It's just I can't right now!" said Harry awkwardly but with a fiery passion that made his lethargy again, disappear as it often did around Crane.

"Fine, but why can't you tell me now?" asked Crane, dying to know.

"Because...you wouldn't believe it yet," said Harry mysteriously. He resolved he would tell Crane as soon as the mental blockade that was just stopping his innate magic was healed, as soon as the nightmares that were slowly retreating and hurting less from his sessions with Dr. Crane disappeared completely and he regained control over his magic. He would show Jonathan Crane what it was, he would tell him everything and hope the muggle still liked him. The Ministry wouldn't find out either because he no longer had wand to track and hopefully, he would still have a person to hold at the end of it all.

Crane just sighed, he longed for more transparency between them despite what they already had.

At least he knew he'd find out, Harry promised him he would.

He just had to wait, until then, he had a lot of other aspects to Harry other then his mysterious past to investigate...or enjoy.

* * *

The mayor of Gotham was knee-deep in shit, crime had always been an issue there but their Dark Knight -the Batman had always protected them even though they were always at war with the vigilante. The press was riled up by the death of the recently promoted Rachel Dawes who was well on her way to being the head of the Justice Department and it had happened in police quarters, amidst those appointed to protect Gotham. A killer had gotten in, killed a prized face of justice right after the deceased-insane Harvey Dent. Not even the Batman could have seen it coming and considering The Joker the assassination had been quiet and small-scale, but as promised invoked fear within the entirety of Gotham city through minimal action. He truly was an agent of chaos and he was quite artful about it when he wanted to be. It was causing chaos, the public was in fear and was losing faith in the justice system and police force, everyone in the business knew it was corrupt but the public had been largely unaware until now.

Then, he heard word from Falcone's old lawyer who worked closely with the mayor politically.

There was a sane man in Arkham Asylum, bingo, he found his moniker to show the justice system worked and that their rehabilitation system did. Their criminals could be cured, they could have faith in it, and whats more the trusted and leading psychologist in the states was supporting and pushing for his parole.

He had something for the press to jump their attention to and draw away from The Joker's assassination of Rachel Dawes.

The mayor could use Harry Potter in the way that the Republican party of America had used 'Joe the Plumber' as an image the public could look to, to represent the middle class and gained the Republican party better ratings in the polls (he gained popularity and it worked for a short while...until it failed). Harry Potter could be used to show the face of reformed prisoners and Arkham residents to show the public people like The Joker could be cured. Potter could prove to the public they had a system they could have faith in. The mayor would then also face less criticism and the press would finally show him in a better light.

"Jessica! Get Falcone's lawyer and High Court Judge Faden on the phone! Then get my PR stunt manager to come in," barked the mayor to his secretary. He needed to get the corrupt judge on his side and fix the parole case to make sure Potter gets released either way.

He was going to alert the press, start spread of Potter representing a good reform system and get the parole hearing confirmed and set to be made public. The very renowned Dr. Crane was also on Potter's side due to the fact it was him that was pushing for the man's release.

Things might actually start going well after all.

Too bad the Batman didn't feel like it was.

Both sides of Bruce Wayne mourned the loss of his love, Rachel Dawes and stalked the roofs of Gotham at night with a bloodthirsty urge to bring The Joker to justice.

Bloody justice.

What exactly had that bastard clown have planned that was making him lay reasonably low? The assassination was small-scale and since then nothing Joker-related had been reported.

He must have something planned.


End file.
